


Chasing the Dragon

by John_Hawkens



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate universe - Mafia, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Crime Lord Keith (Voltron), Detective Shiro (Voltron), Eventual Smut, Keith isn't much better to be fair, M/M, Mafia AU, Never Make a Deal with a Dragon, Shiro is an absolute gay disaster, Top Keith (Voltron), Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-18 02:36:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16109015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Hawkens/pseuds/John_Hawkens
Summary: With his leads turning into dead ends and corpses, Detective Takashi Shirogane realizes that he has plunged into a violent conspiracy way over his head and that he is running out of time. If he ever wants to unravel the shadow games that plague his beloved city, he's going to have to be willing to bend the rules and turn to strange bedfellows to prevent mutual destruction.And none are stranger than the volatile and enigmatic Keith Kogane, sole heir to the Mafia family that has held an iron grip in the area since time immemorial. Shiro would much rather see the young crime lord behind bars than at his side, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Despite the detective's best efforts, Keith seems to have taken a liking to him, something that has proved both useful as well as garnered him the ridicule of half the precinct. But despite his sarcastic wit and aloof nature, Keith is frighteningly clever and ruthlessly dangerous. Bargaining with him will meaning dancing with the devil and dealing with dragons. But if Shiro plays his cards right, perhaps he'll take out two birds with one stone in the process of solving this mystery. It's not like the younger Kogane means anything to him.Right?





	Chasing the Dragon

_“You shouldn’t be here.”_

The words cut the night like a knife, but it was the cold eyes behind them that raked Shiro across the coals. Against his better judgement, he took a step forward.

“I need answers,” he demanded with far more bravado than he felt. The thoughts in the back of his mind were clawing at his senses, reminding him that his car was blocks away and any backup, further still. By dawn he could have his answers, or he could just as easily find himself in a luxury suitcase floating out on the tide and ruining some poor dockworker’s morning.

It was not a comforting thought.

Less comforting still were the baleful eyes that roved over him as he approached, each step evaporating moisture from his tongue until it sat in his mouth like a lead weight. It took physical effort to peel it free as he continued, “Keith I-”  
  
_“Shouldn’t be here!”_

The flickering warehouse lights cast eerie shadows over the younger man’s face as he uncoiled himself from the back of his Tesla like a gargoyle coming to life. The sounds of his Gucci shoes striking the ground filled the space between them with a sharp staccato and Shiro had to resist the urge to flinch. People’s lives were riding on his case and time was running short. He was so close he could practically taste the trail, but it had gone cold at the corner of Smith and 7th, where another body lay in mute witness to all but the mortician’s tools. Gritting his teeth, he closed the distance.

“I’m not leaving until you answer me,” Shiro continued, noting the twitch in the other man’s eye for his bold assertion. The cold fury that met him on the surface was nothing compared to the molten violence that boiled beneath Keith’s skin. A detached part in the back of Shiro’s thoughts noted all the signs. The clenched fists, dilated pupils and slow, deep breaths. The way his muscles shifted like bowstrings strung taut, just waiting for an excuse to snap. Arm’s length, hands at the ready. Years of drilled training screamed at him for his foolishness. Ignoring it all, Shiro reached out and clasped a hand on Keith’s shoulder.

A hot blast of air hissed through Keith’s teeth as though he were too busy savaging the words he wanted to say to properly spit them out. Instead, a slender wrist snapped out and grabbed a hold of Shiro’s tie, yanking him down to his eye level. For the billionth time that night, the detective wondered why he hadn’t worn his body armour instead of his office shirt, but it was far too late for that now. Narrowing his eyes, Shiro steeled himself. He needed those answers, caution be damned.

“I don’t know what the _/fuck/_ made you think coming out here was a good idea,” Keith snarled just centimeters from the detective’s face. His breath smelled pleasantly of cinnamon, an observation that Shiro might have found amusing if he hadn’t been legitimately concerned that he might not walk home tonight in one piece.

“I need answers, Keith. People are dying,” Shiro replied with a tone far more stable than he felt. His voice echoed too loudly off the shipping crates surrounding them, ricocheting off their rusted metal walls like a misfired bullet.

You might be next, _Shirogane_.” Keith drawled out his name like an epitaph, rolling it on his barbed tongue as he tried to shrug his shoulder free of the detective’s hand. Shiro simply tightened his grip and stared. The irritation on the other man’s face was clear, but to back off now may have only invited more disaster. Weakness was neither a thing Keith admired nor respected. Strength, however foolish, was.

“How did you even find-” Keith began before Shiro cut him off. Slipping his other hand in his pocket, he fished out his phone, showing the furious younger man the warehouse dock set up on Google maps with a pin set on where his lovely Tesla now sat.

“I’m not stupid, Keith,” Shiro grunted as Keith let go of his tie with an explosion of curses, allowing him to straighten his spine. “I’m very good at my work.”

“Sure and that’s why you have your paws all over the Donna’s only son, begging him for information.”

The retort stung, but Shiro couldn’t argue with it. Then again Keith’s caustic sass was a lot better than the murderous fury from before. That was something he could work with. If only he could somehow appeal to the other man’s better nature, he could… Well. That would depend on whether or not he actually _/had/_ a better nature to appeal to.

“You have a point there,” Shiro began tactfully. He felt the raw tension under his hand unwind little by little and fought the urge to heave a sigh of relief. This was progress!

The slam of a car door in the distance destroyed it instantly.

Wrenching his arm out from under Shiro’s grasp, Keith bristled furiously, spitting out enough curses to make a soldier blush. Twisting around, he grabbed the handle to the nearest shipping crate and yanked his keys out of his pocket. Stabbing one of them in with ruthless efficiency, he whirled on Shiro.

“Get in!”

Not about to be bullied yet again, Shiro frowned. “Keith, I-”

“Shiro, get _/in/_.” Please was probably not a word in the fiery man’s vocabulary but the pleading tone in his words struck the detective like a freight train. Keith had spoken to him in a great many ways and called him a great many things, but he had _/never/_ pleaded with him for anything.

“I’ll help. Just go. The. Fuck. In.”

Another car door slammed and the distant sound of voices drifted in on the salty breeze from the pier alongside the rancid smell of rotting fish. It was a poor omen if there ever was one, made worse by the panicked expression in Keith’s eyes. Shiro didn’t wait for him to ask again. Stepping into the shadow of the crate, he paused just long enough to lean down by Keith's ear.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

If Keith heard him, he made no indication.

Long shadows yawned over Shiro as the old rusted door swung in behind him, leaving only a flickering halo of palid light illuminating Keith’s face. Their eyes met for a brief moment in silence before the dark-haired man snorted derisively. A snakish smile slipped easily over his lips that did not touch his eyes and Shiro was plunged into darkness. As the handle clicked into place, the young detective idly wondered if he’d be calling for help from the inside come morning. It would be embarrassing enough to explain how he’d managed to get himself locked inside a crate on the warehouse docks. Worse still would be suffering through the stench as the morning sun warmed up the rotting vegetation and fish carcasses strewn about while he waited for that help to arrive. Thankfully, the lock never turned and as Shiro heard the sound of receding footsteps, he blindly swept his good hand over the door, searching for any means to see outside. A small prick on his finger alerted him to a hole that had rusted through near the handle and he hastily hunched his muscular frame into the corner. Wedging one of his mechanical fingers inside, he broke free some ancient shards of rust and peered through.

At such a steep angle, Keith looked even more imposing as he perched back atop the trunk of his Tesla. Pulling a cigarette from his pocket, he lit up, leaning back and folding an arm over his knee for all the world as though he were out sightseeing.

Sightseeing. In the dead of night. On the seediest docks in town and dressed to kill. Shiro hoped that the latter wouldn’t come to pass. But he certainly hadn’t made it this far on the force with wishful thinking.

“You’re late,” Keith drawled out from the back of his car, yanking Shiro’s thoughts back to the present. From his vantage point, he could just make out the shape of two men standing a few feet away. One was tall and scrawny, covered in so many tattoos it was almost hard to see his skin under it all. The other looked like Lurch from the Addam’s family had decided that a life of crime better suited his tastes than a manservant. Neither of them looked terribly pleased to see Keith and Shiro couldn’t help the way his heart rattled behind his ribs nervously.

“Cops are swarming over by Smith and Seventh,” Tattoo whined with a voice that sounded like he had chain smoked his entire life. “We had to take the long way.”

“I’m sure the client will appreciate your discretion,” Keith replied. His tone was as bright as his smile, but Shiro knew all too well the malice behind both. There was nothing friendly in his eyes when he slipped off the trunk of his car and opened the back door. Pulling out a briefcase, he turned back around, hooking his ankle back and slamming the door behind him. Both of the other men flinched.

Setting the case at his feet, Keith crossed his arms and stared at them expectantly. The air hung heavy with uncertainty until Tattoo elbowed Lurch in his side. Mumbling something under his breath, Lurch made his way over to where Keith stood. Despite the fact that he towered above the dark-haired man, there was no mistaking who was the greater force. Keith exuded power and wore confidence on his brow like a crown of laurels. The Don treated him as if he were the Olympians’ promise to the mortal realm and Keith didn’t just revel in that status. He _/lived/_ it.

As Lurch awkwardly bent over to retrieve the case, Shiro almost felt sorry for him. More than once he had found himself captivated under the same snare of those fierce violet eyes. A flush crept into the detective’s face at the memory. His tie caught in the tiger-claw grip of the dark haired beauty still cuffed to the interrogation table. A kiss boldly stolen just as swiftly as his breath.

“The Capo promised a bonus for this one.” Tattoo’s voice ripped Shiro from his unbidden daydreams from where he stood well out of the range of their fuming Boss. His partner was less lucky. The briefcase slammed back into the ground as Keith’s shoe drove it to the salt crusted cement, nearly toppling Lurch along with it.

“And that bonus will be paying for a new flight ticket for the client thanks to your discretion.” Keith’s words were silky smooth and sickly sweet as he flicked his cigarette to the ground.

Tattoo clearly had a deathwish, as he stormed up beside the other two men, jabbing a crooked finger at Keith’s chest.

“You might think you’re tough shit, Momma’s Boy, but the rest of us don’t eat out of a gilded spoon like you. A promise is a promise and I know you’re only here because the Boss actually needed some real men at the Meet.”

A deathly silence fell over the night and Shiro clenched his teeth. Like tiny cables, his nerves frayed and sparked as he shifted his weight and dropped his mechanical arm to the butt of his holster. He couldn’t see as well as he would have liked, but he had a fair idea how far his long legs could carry him and both Tattoo and Lurch were well within lunging distance. Slipping his mechanical thumb under the safety strap on his holster, he popped it off, setting his good hand against the crate’s handle and prepared to---

To what? Was he really about to leap out into the middle of an internal struggle to the defense of a high ranking member of the local Mafia? Iverson would probably have him demoted for even _/thinking/_ about it. And that’s if he were lucky. Sure he could argue that saving the Don’s only son would earn some good favour, but after Keith’s bold affection at his latest visit to the station, no one would believe it was out of pure logic that he had done so. No matter how many times they were forced as strange bedfellows in the line of far more brutal crimes, the Donna’s family would never be a friend of the precinct. They were a tolerated evil because they knew how to play the law and had done so for generations. Roots that deep could not be usurped so easily no matter how badly the Chief wished he could.

Shiro’s loose connections were overlooked for their resulting successes on his cases, but that didn’t stop the disapproving looks Matt shot his way nor the whispered gossip with Allura when Lance brought in the morning coffee. Shiro knew without a shadow of a doubt that if the younger Kogane perished today he would be the only one not celebrating. It wasn’t cruelty, but logic. Something he seemed to be in short supply as of late.

A sharp, barking laugh broke the silence, drawing three sets of eyes to Keith’s finely dressed form. “I’m flattered you spend that much effort on hating me,” the dark-haired man wheezed with barely contained amusement. “Nepotism must really be a sore spot for you.”

“You’re right. Real men _/were/_ needed at the Meet. That’s why you two soldiers are running deliveries and why I have to waste my time sullying my eyes with your idiotic faces on my way out of town.” He rolled the last words over his tongue like a juicy morsel, savouring the nervous looks between Tattoo and Lurch like the first scent of blood in the water. His grin widened, but it was full of nothing but teeth.

“But I am a generous man and tomorrow is my birthday. I’d much rather be miles from town piss drunk than figuring out what to do with your ugly corpses.” Pulling his foot off the briefcase, Keith kicked it away, sending it skidding a few feet closer to the other men. “I’m not keeping that bonus either, you know. I understand that sacrifices must be made for the good of the Family, even if neither of you do. Don’t like it? You can suck my cock”

“No thanks,” Tattoo scowled as he snatched up the briefcase, muttering rebelliously under his breath. “I’ll leave that for your pet detective.” He probably hadn’t meant to be heard, but the salty breeze brought it clear as day. Shiro swallowed as panic flooded his veins.

Keith gave no warning before he struck. Lines had been crossed and his retribution was as swift as it was efficient. There was a blur of black under the flickering warehouse lights and then red. Lots of red. Tattoo went down with a shriek, clutching a broken nose as crimson spattered over his crooked fingers.

Lurch took a hesitant step forwards, but halted immediately as Keith’s attention snapped to him. The cold hatred in his eyes was terrifying and the larger man made the wise decision of dropping to his knees instantly as he threw his hands in the air in submission.

“I ain’t said nothin’, Boss,” he croaked as he swept a nervous tongue over his lips. “And Rick’s a drunk moron. He don’t know what he’s saying. P-please.”

Shiro doubted it was simply the broken nose that brought on the pathetic pleading. That was child’s play compared to the aftermath he’d investigated from many of their dealings gone bad. Moreso the idea of crossing the Donna’s only son and their own capo bastone was finally settling in their guts and rotting them from the inside with raw, primal fear. They knew well enough that either Kogane could skin them alive and how few fucks they’d give while doing so. The next few moments could mean the difference between life and death and Lurch made sure to spend them wisely. Pressing his face down to the cement, he prostrated himself under the baleful glare of the dark-haired crime lord.

Shiro watched as Keith bent slightly with his head tilted before straightening his spine. The anger on his face disappeared as swiftly as it had come and was replaced with something closer to boredom. Evidently whatever Lurch had said had appeased him enough for the time being. Taking a step back, Keith pulled out another cigarette and slipped it between his lips. While Tattoo rolled over in pain, Lurch scuttled to his knees and hastily fished out a lighter from his jacket and struck a flame for his Boss.

As Tattoo scrambled to turn over, Keith’s foot came down again, pinning his wrist to the cement. Slowly he rolled his weight forwards until Shiro could practically feel the sickening grinding of skin, tendon, and bone beneath him. Blowing a mouthful of smoke into the thoroughly shamed man’s face, Keith gave his foot one last vicious twist.

“Your partner saved your life tonight, Soldier,” he stated in a voice so casual that it made the rest of his words only more frightening. “I am. Your. God. You draw your breath at _/my/_ pleasure.”

Finally he lifted his foot, allowing Tattoo to roll over and prostrate himself at his feet alongside his partner. Shiro had seen enough. Pressing his good hand to his forehead, he leaned back against the side of the crate as his stomach tied itself into knots. It was almost hard to believe that the slender killer that stood out under the flickering warehouse lights was the same man who had cheekily stolen a kiss the last time they had spoken. The juxtaposition was violently jarring and he knew it would later haunt his dreams.

“Get out of my sight.” Keith’s voice echoed in the shipping crate. “Both of you.”

Shiro could hear the frantic scuffling of boots and then the distant sounds of two car doors slamming before quiet finally returned to the docks. Closing his eyes, he waited for a moment, simply listening to the soft sounds of water lapping at the pier alongside the low hum of traffic far away before pushing himself back to his feet. Snapping the safety strap back on his holster, he put an arm up as the door opened from the outside, blinding him momentarily with the sudden flood of fluorescent light. When his sight cleared, he found Keith staring up at him.

“Get in the car,” he ordered, pushing a gloved hand through his handsome ebony curls.

Shiro crossed his arms as his thick brows furrowed. “Keith that is not what you pro--”

Keith drew his pistol and leveled it at the sweet spot right between the detective’s eyes and Shiro instantly snapped his mouth shut.

“I am not in the fucking mood, Shiro. Get in the car.”

Shiro stared down at Keith, searching his face for something, anything. But all that greeted him was a mask of exhausted fury. The slender crime lord glared back, every line in his body a promise of violence. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, Shiro obeyed without further question. Opening the passenger’s side door to the Tesla, he pulled his leg in just a split second before Keith slammed it behind him.

He was barely able to settle his legs in the vehicle before Keith ripped open his driver’s side door and jammed his head inside.

“Where is it?” Keith demanded in a frighteningly even voice. Shiro sighed. He had really been hoping that the other man had forgotten. It would have made for a good safety net and a useful tool for the future, but then again he doubted that Keith had made it this far by being stupid.

“Rear left of the undercarriage, just past the wheel well.”

The dark haired man barely let him finish before he lurched back out, leaving the door open as he stalked towards the back of his vehicle. Shiro could hear the sharp taps of Keith’s Gucci shoes on the cement outside before he felt the vehicle move beneath him. An incredibly unpleasant scraping sound suddenly split the air and Shiro briefly wondered if it would be wiser for him to lock the doors and try to hotwire his way to safety. Then again, most of his life had been spent stopping those who stole the cars, not practicing the crime itself. It was unlikely he would be able to pull it off in time even if he wanted to. Shiro suffered a brief mental vision of Keith punching through the glass to slit his throat or painting his skull meat across the passenger’s side with his pistol and thought better of it.

Besides, he still needed those answers. If he was going to finish his case, he was going to have to be willing to take some risks.

A shadow slipped over the driver’s side door, heralding Keith’s return and Shiro looked up just in time to snap his metal arm up over his face as the now removed GPS tracker was viciously chucked at him. The device deflected off his arm with a clang and Shiro hurried to snatch it out of the air before it struck the windshield. There was a few heartbeats of nervous fumbling before Shiro finally got a firm enough grip to sit back in the seat.

Sinking down with a sigh of relief, he slid his pale grey eyes over to where Keith was still standing. Their gazes met for a brief moment before a sly smile slipped over the smaller man’s lips. Shiro felt his chest tighten and dropped his eyes. He swore he could almost _/hear/_ Keith’s smile widen, and felt a deep flush creep up into his face as he thumbed the GPS in his hands. Tonight was not going nearly as well as he had hoped.

At least the smile, however much it made him want to crawl under his seat, was a good indication that he was not being driven off to his death. Shiro forced himself to swallow his embarrassment and focus on his task at hand. He needed those answers and whether or not he liked the idea, he was going to have to take a risk to get them.

Tilting his head back up, Shiro rolled his eyes over discreetly and stole a look as Keith slipped inside his car. As he watched, the crime lord’s bright violet eyes clouded in pain and he could see the tension slip into his face, bubbling to the surface like blood beneath a bruise. A soft wheeze choked out from between Keith’s teeth as he sat and Shiro zeroed in immediately on the source. Keith was definitely favouring his right side, just under his arm, possibly damage to his rib cage beneath. Not broken, he would have been much louder and less likely to have hidden the pain until now. It perplexed the detective, however. Neither Tattoo nor Lurch had made any move against Keith. So what had injured him?

Snatching up his seat belt, Keith hissed under his breath as he twisted around to buckle, gingerly favouring his right arm. As the head of the buckle struck the plate, he winced and the metal pieces slipped past. Without thinking, Shiro reached out and snatched the buckle from Keith’s hand. The dark haired man startled lightly and Shiro had no trouble pulling the belt from his slender wrist, snapping it into place in one swift movement before raising his eyes to meet Keith’s.

If looks could kill, Shiro felt that ‘fine paste’ may have been a fit description for the utter savagery that peered out from those cold, violet depths. Despite it, he simply set his jaw and stared back, offering neither sympathy nor mockery. Already he could see the other man’s skin growing pale as lines of pain tightened around his eyes and sweat beaded on his forehead. It was possibly the most vulnerable he had ever seen the other man, and that included multiple times when Keith had been cuffed to a table right in front of him at the station.

With a grunt, Keith turned away and started up his car. The engine purred to life beneath them and he threw it in reverse, stomping on the pedal and sending them flying backwards. Having forgotten his own seat belt, Shiro was throw over the dash narrowly avoiding a fat lip as the glove box did its best to become one with his stomach.

“Buckle up,” Keith sneered as he shifted back into forward drive.

Hearing the click of the shifter, the detective fumbled back into his seat and scrambled to yank on his own seat belt, snapping it in place as Keith shot forwards, screeching around the towering walls of shipping crates. Shiro snapped his hand up to the grab handle and hung on for dear life as Keith tore out of the docks at a breakneck pace. Only perfected muscle memory and driving skills kept them from becoming a lump of twisted metal and dead meat and that thought combined with motion sickness made Shiro strongly consider the worth of vomiting up his dinner.

Flipping down his sun visor, Keith tapped on a small device and the distant jingling of chain links echoed through the shipping crates as he tore around the corner onto the dock exits. The salt crusted asphalt ramped up alongside the edge of the hill that cut off the warehouse from the road, blocked by a massive chain gate that now slowly plodded open. Fishtailing into place, Keith didn’t bother to slow down any more than he had to and Shiro felt the panic rise in his chest as they raced up the path in a direct collision course.

The detective snapped his head to the side, preparing to yank on the steering wheel in order to keep Keith from ramming through the gate. The old machinery may have been rusty and ancient, but it was built to last and was far older than half the buildings around it. Even if they won, they wouldn’t be driving far with the impending aftermath.

Keith, however, seemed largely unconcerned. Leaning back in his seat, he even had the balls to stifle a yawn as he sped on. Shiro would have yelled at him, but it was already too late. Grabbing the wheel at this speed would be madness as well, he’d only roll them off the edge of the ramp. There was no time left to act.

Three seconds to impact.

Two.

One.

Throwing his arm up, Shiro covered his delicate eyes and throat, prepared for the inevitable. If he got through this alive, he swore he’d wring Keith’s neck himself for his audacity. Betrayal was serious and it killed any flustered swooning as dead as he was preparing to be. Gritting his teeth, Shiro braced for impact.

A blast of acrid smoke from the old gate engines crept through the air into the car, but there was no screeching of brakes or metal. Pulling his arms down, Shiro saw the gate doors rush by in a metallic blur just a hairsbreadth on either side of them. Keith hit the button on his sun visor again and swerved onto the road above, his laughter sounding a tad too maniacal for Shiro’s tastes. As the larger man turned to give his driver an earful, Keith turned on the radio and cranked up the volume, drowning out whatever the detective had been about to say with the dulcet tones of Fall Out Boy.

_You are a brick tied to me that’s dragging me down  
_ _Strike a match and I’ll burn you to the ground_

As the strangely accurate lyrics picked up, Keith slammed down on the accelerator and tore down the road. Despite the time of night, there was still a fair number of cars on the road and they each passed in a blur of red neon brake lights as Keith threaded through them as though the speed limits posted had personally offended him.

A cacophony of horns shattered the night as Keith merged onto the highway and tore across four lanes of traffic before speeding off another exit. Shiro wasn’t sure which terrified him more, the fact that the younger Kogane was driving like a madman or the possibility that he would alert the cops and they would be pulled over. He didn’t want to think about what that would mean for his own reputation should he be found seated in the same vehicle alongside the infamous crime lord.

“Relax, Takashi,” Keith sneered as though he had read his very thoughts. “The cops here know me well. They won’t touch us.”

Shiro bristled though he struggled to figure out which part of the other man’s words had offended him most. He hated how easily his name rolled off Keith’s lips, lovingly caressed despite the younger man’s poisoned tongue.

“They know well enough to stay out of my business,” Keith curled his lip back over his teeth as he continued. “Unlike someone else I know...”

“Keith! You know that---”

Before Shiro could finish his retort, Keith leaned forwards and turned up the volume, drowning out his words as the song continued.

_Hey Youngblood doesn’t it feel like our time is running out_  
_I’m going to change you like a remix  
_ _Then I’ll raise you like a phoenix_

The younger Kogane joined in, matching the lyrics surprisingly well as his eyes rolled over Shiro’s frame. The detective shuddered and turned away. Keith looked like a predator sizing up his next meal and he wasn’t sure he wanted any part of that.

The rest of the drive passed in a blur as they raced past the outskirts of the city limits and into the rolling hills beyond. A chill rain began to fall, adding its own cadence to the music already playing. Shiro might have found it soothing if it weren’t for who he was driving with.

Keith, however, seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Whenever the detective dared to look over, his violet eyes were bright with focus and the sly smile had never left his lips. Perhaps driving was therapeutic for him. Maybe it was the rush of speed, the music, or the night rain. Or maybe it was the thrill of having Shiro at his mercy.

Shiro scowled into the passenger’s side window. His faint reflection glared back, eyes tired and face worn. The dark shadows of trees and distant houses passed in a hazy blur outside, only briefly illuminated by the blades of lightning that stabbed through the sky. Thunder rumbled high above, blending with the rippling shadows and giving the impression that some great beast was undulating alongside their car.

“Welcome home, Takashi.”

Shiro started awake from where he had dozed off, briefly wiping a trace of spit from the corner of his mouth and staunchly ignoring the greasy smear on the inside of the passenger’s window where his forehead had been resting. He started to answer, thought better of it, and snapped his mouth back shut. No sense in inflating Keith’s ego any further by dignifying his taunt with an answer.

Straight ahead an old Victorian estate loomed on the horizon, the bright lights decorating the grounds in staunch defiance of the wet dark outside. Shiro’s heart leapt into his throat as he recognized the profile of the steep spires and long iron gates outside. He had memorized the layout some time ago. Gate guard house on the right, massive faux lake-pool to the East of the building, and lush gardens to the West. A garage sat outside big enough to house the entire fleet of his precinct with some room left over and that was just with the main building. In the back half of the plot sat the servant’s quarters which was practically its own high class apartment suite, each room easily worth quadruple what Shiro was paying for his own crappy apartment in the smoggy downtown streets.

This was one of the Kogane family’s grand estates, specifically Keith’s and it was practically untouchable by any extent of the law. There was enough high tech security, raw firepower and ingenious hidden construction work that the estate doubled as an emergency fortress should the family ever fall on hard times. The grounds had been passed down for generations, built up grander by every new family head seeking to both prove their worth and to build their own paradise for when they needed to escape from it all for awhile.

Whispered rumours turned into legend on the streets when it came to the dealings within the estate. Stories of unspeakable violence, grandiose parties and luxury beyond compare. Keith Kogane was a gentleman and a hedonist of the highest caliber and his talons had long reach around his base. The original name of the building had once been something flowery and fancy, in stark contrast to the long line of criminals that had called it home. But under the rule of the youngest Kogane, it had a new name. It was a palace of seduction and sin, of power and corruption. It was a hellhole where many went in that never came out.

“The Dragon’s Den,” Shiro breathed out, nonplussed. Forget any plans for backup he may have dreamt of. Out here, he was in the Kogane’s territory. Out here, he was truly at Keith’s mercy. Sinking further into his seat, the detective rubbed the bridge of his nose. To say he had screwed up was a severe understatement. Out here he was well and truly fucked.

From the guardhouse, a handful of PTZ cameras swung their way and the gates parted, allowing them to pass. As they slammed behind them, Shiro realized he had reached the point of no return.

Keith simply smiled.

 

\-----------------------

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally inspired by the amazing artwork done by Lightningstrikes-art at www.lightningstrikes-art.tumblr.com and was written and posted with their blessing. (Please support them and their fantastic talents!) This was also inspired by my experience working in Security and with law enforcement as well as my deep love of cyberpunk (Shadowrun, Cyberpunk 2077/2020, Deus Ex, etc)
> 
> See anything you like and want to talk about it? Or just want to gush about Sheith / cyberpunk stuff in general? Feel free to hit me up on my Sheith blog at: https://as-many-times-as-it-takes.tumblr.com/ (for all things Sheith/Voltron related), or on my own personal blog at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/johnhawkens (for an eclectic assortment of animals (especially cats), dry humour, cyberpunk stuff, my personal art and lots of biomechanical monstrosities!
> 
> Feedback and excitement is always appreciated.
> 
> And yes, I promise the smut is coming soon ;3


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